The Dark Forest stretched out for miles and miles across The Digital World. And every day, it grew a little larger. Black vines and creepers extended outwards through the ground, uprooting and choking all natural vegetation, and curling it's malicious tendrils around any unfortunate creature who fell into its grasp. It was a terror. A cancer on the face of the world. And once, it had had a name. Not a title or a monicker, but a genuine name. If only it could remember it. If only it could remember anything.
If any man or monster had been able to brave the seemingly endless jungle of black trees and roots that packed The Dark Forest; if that same person could survive the beast which hunted within the depths of that forest- then eventually they would come to great stone structure buried deep into the ground of the forest. Navigating its miles and miles of tunnels now stuffed with creepers and cloying vines, they would eventually find their way to the very centre of the structure, wherein they would find the largest and darkest of the trees, eternally shedding dark spores out into the world. And the the centre of this tree, his body a horrifying mix of roots and flesh woven haphazardly together, sits an immobile and silent Ken Ichijouji.
For that was his name, though he no longer could remember it. The boy who had called himself The Digimon Emperor remembered nothing of his old life now. The Dark Tree that had sprouted from his head had taken all those memories away with it, and in the months that followed nearly every vestige of his old self had been taken along with them. Now he was a creature of eternal quiet patience, like a thousand coiled snakes waiting patiently to strike. Or a spider sitting so still in its web that you begin to wonder if it even alive at all. Many miles away, he felt a Gazimon tread on one of his roots, and striking with the all the ferocity of a tiger he took hold of the creature by the neck and began to wrap it up in dark black vines that were thick, fibrous and muscular. The Gazimon would be consumed slowly, like so many others.
Absent-mindedly he remembered that he (whoever he was) had once been forced to use computer screens to see what was going on in his domain. Now he did not even need eyes to see. He could see everything that was happening around him just fine by feeling every disturbance of a spore in the air, every root stepped on, every branch jostled. And he could hear too, he heard every word spoken in his forest. Sometimes he would hear voices he was sure he recognised. A woman calling out for someone named "Ken", a boy calling back for his mother. A kind and reassuring voice that he was sure he knew from somewhere. And then he would awaken back in the dark of his nest and not know why tears were rolling down his cheeks.
He did not know how long he had been like this, such measurements of time were now beyond him. Every time he closed his eyes he did not know if moments or decades had passed. And he did not care. If he had been able to reflect upon his past, perhaps he would see that that carelessness had truly been his undoing. Once he had cared so much. He had wanted to impress his parents, he had wanted some solace from the pain of his everyday life, he had wanted to live up to the memory of his brother and be a good friend to Wormmon. But slowly, all that had melted away, and he had been left with nothing but rage, and a great all-consuming carelessness.
He did not remember exactly what path had led him here, or how he had come to be what he now was, but all the former Digimon Emperor knew was that all that he was, and all that this world had been subjected to- was his own doing. He knew that every dark tower his roots touched against, every evil Digimon who glided through his skies, every innocent Digimon who was consumed by his creepers- they were all a result of decisions he had made.
Near one of the largest entrances, a great footprint smashed down onto his roots, and inside he screamed at the fire that coursed through his mind. Lashing out with every bit of malice and viciousness he could muster, he felt the great footprints advance slowly down the main hallway. There was no panic from the being that had once been Ken, no attempt to flee or employ any clever countermeasures. All that was behind him now. All that remained before him was his final destiny.
From out of the darkness of the main hallway, he discerned through his bloodshot eyes the face of Chimeramon. His creation. Or was it the other way around. Was Ken his creation? He could no longer be sure. He only knew that as the creature advanced and reached out with one of its gigantic claws and ripped Ken from his roots, that his existence was about to be over. Absently he felt a growing cold sensation rising up his body as stale blood and black ichor spilled from the trunks that had once been his legs. And as Chimeramon unhooked his jaws and slowly moved what remained of the boy inside his horrifying black mouth, only one thought could resound in the boys head again and again before those terrible teeth cut it short. "I regret everything."
The End.
